


Scientific Soul Mates

by Hisa_Ai



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Family, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Marriage, Modern Era, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:45:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hisa_Ai/pseuds/Hisa_Ai
Summary: What do you do when all your past relationships have failed and you've decided you're done with dating? You turn to an experiment that promises to find your perfect match for you. Naturally.





	1. You're doing all these things out of desperation

**Author's Note:**

> **So there is this show called "Married At First Sight" which, I don't know if you've ever watched it or heard of it, but, basically what it is is specialists matched up couples and they were married to people who were supposed to be, scientifically speaking, their perfect match. I'm over-simplifying the explanation of things, but, yeah, that's the basis of it. And I was inspired by it about two years ago to write this fic and it's... been a process, okay, but here we are, and I just hope that you enjoy it.**
> 
> **I'm sure the actual process involved in this show is like... way more complicated and time consuming than it's gonna be in this fic but like... well, _my_ version will make for better reading I hope, so, okay, just work with me, guys.**
> 
>  **The title of this chapter is a line from the song** _Six Degrees of Separation_ **by The Script.**

_Prologue:_

_You're doing all these things out of desperation_

* * *

 

  
*

  
Arthur Pendragon was not what you would call 'good' at relationships. He'd had his fair share of them, starting when he was a young teenager, but, somehow or another, they _always_ seemed to end in heartache and chaos. From miscommunication to cheating to the keying of cars—usually Arthur's—he'd been through it all and, quite frankly, he was sick of it. Sick of failed relationship after failed relationship, sick of dates that didn't go anywhere, sick of dull conversations, sick of blind dates and set-ups—he was simply sick of it all.

  
And yet, the older he got, the more hours he put in at work… the more he _craved_ something more, the more he hated, _dreaded_ , going home to an empty house at night. He had his friends, his sister, his father, to an extent, and yet he craved _more_. A partner, someone to come home to, someone to just be there for him at the end of long days and weeks and years. God, he just wanted someone to spend and share his life with—surely that wasn't asking for _too_ much?

  
But relationships were not meant for him, he told himself time and time again when he found himself yearning for such a thing, so he simply resigned himself to an empty house and an empty heart, and got on with his life as best he could.

  
Until one morning, sitting in his office, clicking through a few websites as he was waiting for his next client to come in, when an ad of sorts caught his eye. It was a dating ad, from the look of it, which were not rare, of course, but _this_ one was vague and gave him pause before he pulled the browser down. He wasn't _meant_ for relationships, he reminded himself, but ** _this ad_** …

  
Seemed promising, so he pulled the browser back up and clicked on it, and, somehow or another, wound up clicking through the website it took him to for _quite_ some time after.

  
The whole thing seemed interesting enough—it wasn't even a _proper_ dating website, it was... a process. Something about finding the love of your life with little effort on your own part, and if that wasn't something that Arthur Pendragon would be interested in, then his name _really_ wasn't Arthur Pendragon. There was an orientation, a presentation of sorts, the following Saturday, and anyone who was interested was invited to come to it. Afterwards, information would be collected, interviews conducted, background checks ran, surveys and questionnaires filled out, and the pool of people would be narrowed down, and couples put together. These couples, it promised, would be—scientifically speaking—perfect couples, soul mates, it _promised_.

  
The whole thing _sounded_ a bit far-fetched and _too_ good to be true—if it was really that easy to find the love of one's life, then why hadn't Arthur found them himself yet?—as far as Arthur was concerned.

_  
But_ …

  
He took up a pad of post-it notes and jotted down the details _anyway_ , before clicking out of the website and busying himself with the paperwork on his desk. He wouldn't get his hopes up or anything, but, if nothing else, it would at least be a way to kill some time on a day when he otherwise had nothing to do.

  
He didn't have anything to lose.

  
*

* * *

 


	2. Sending big waves into motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't marry someone he didn't know! It was ridiculous! Preposterous!
> 
> Or at least, he kept telling himself that it was.
> 
> And yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The title for this chapter is a line from the song** _Fight Song_ **by Rachel Platten.**

_Chapter 1:_  
  
_Sending big waves into motion_

* * *

 

*

  
Sitting in his jeans and button-down in a room full of people who were so _done_ with dating that they were turning to science to find someone for them to be with was... well, it _should_ have been at least a little bit humiliating, and yet, Arthur could do little more other than crane his neck, eyes scouring the faces, the thought playing at the back of his mind that someone in very well could be his perfect match.

  
According to science, anyway.

  
His head snapped back to the front of the room when someone began speaking—a woman who was maybe in her forties or fifties, auburn hair shaped in a very professional way, blouse and pants and heels _all_ somehow matching the beaded chain that kept her glasses perched on the top of her nose. Arthur scrunched his nose, wondering if she was as cold and distant in personality as she looked from where he was sitting, and if that would have any effect on this whole... process.

  
Her name was Lydia Leslie, she introduced herself as he was thinking that, and she was one of the _few_ experts who would be intimately in charge of matching the couples up.

  
Arthur shifted in his seat at that, trying to will himself to pay apt attention. The room smelled like desperation and too much cologne, however, and he was finding he was beginning to doubt this whole thing too much to pay as much attention as he would have liked to. Perhaps this had been a mistake, perhaps he didn't really need to go to these length to find someone…

  
"—something the website did _not_ mention, however, was that the couples that we match up are to be _married_. And none of the couples will be meeting each other until the day they're to be married—they won't even find out each other's names or anything about each other until they meet at the alter the day of the wedding."

  
That was more than enough to grab Arthur's attention fully, however. She was right, that definitely hadn't been mentioned on the website. If it had been, would he have been sitting there right now? Probably not.

  
Digesting the new piece of information, Arthur felt something stir in his stomach—uneasiness, skepticism, out-right _refusal_ to have anything to do with such absurdity…

  
And yet, even as handfuls of people rose and left then, a murmur still whipping around the room as Dr. Leslie patiently waited for things to quiet down at the front of the room, Arthur didn't leave. Didn't even _move_. Not even when those around him left, leaving the room feeling quite empty—indeed, where there had been something like a hundred or so people in the room to begin with, there were now only thirty or so. And with so few people left, was Arthur's perfect match really in the room— _could_ they be? Were the odds in his favor with so few people here? Could they find his perfect match with less people to work with?

  
Something like a stubborn curiosity kept him rooted in his seat then—any sane person would have left already, as most of them already had—as Dr. Leslie gave the room an appreciative look-over before continuing with her explanation of things, and he knew then that he would be seeing this process out for as long as he could; either they would find his perfect match or they wouldn't, but he wasn't giving it up or dropping out, he was going to do this.

  
Even by the end of the afternoon, after Dr. Leslie finished explaining _everything,_ Arthur _still_ wasn't running in the other direction. No, instead, he found himself filling out paperwork, providing numbers and details and names and getting a packet of information concerning everything he'd already heard that afternoon—and this was bloody insane, wasn't it? He couldn't marry someone he didn't know! It was ridiculous! _Preposterous_!

  
Or at least, he kept telling himself that it was. Even as he made an appointment for the interview Dr. Leslie would want to have with him—as she wanted to meet _all_ the candidates one-on-one, for obvious reasons—and other such arrangements, he kept telling himself that it was insane and he shouldn't do it and his father and sister were going to _kill_ him when they found out about it.

  
And the following day, when he was sitting inside her office, in a surprisingly comfortable bright red chair just across from her, the room cozy and homey in a way that said she _probably_ spent a fair bit of time there—her desk dark, walls lined with books and certificates and documents that, of course, said she was more than qualified to run this little experiment—and made him wonder if she had any luck in the love department herself… well, he _still_ thought it was insane. But that didn't stop him from answering question after question that she had to throw at him, curious and prodding in a non-judgmental sort of way that made him answer all of the questions in as honest a way as he could. And God did she have a lot of questions for him:

  
"What drew you to this experiment in the first place?"

  
"I haven't had very much luck with relationships in the past, but… I still want one, I want that connection, that... spark, that someone to come home to at the end of the day, I want... love—the same as everyone else, and if there's even the slightest chance that _you_ can find it _for_ me—because clearly _I'm_ doing something wrong if I can't find that perfect someone myself—it's worth taking a risk on."

  
"And why did you stay after finding out you'd be _married_ to someone you didn't even know?"

  
"Well, it's not like I've got anything to lose."

  
"What are you looking for in a partner?"

  
"Someone… I don't know, someone I can talk to. Someone who challenges me. Someone I can come home to and feel at home _with_. Someone witty. Someone who I feel understands me. Someone _I_ can try to understand and figure out and challenge and make feel at home. Someone I could call my other half."

  
It was two hours of extensive questions and prodding that ended with a handshake and a pile of paperwork being shoved into his hand, promises of a follow-up phone call and things of the such. Dr. Leslie told him, as he left her office, that she'd already met with a handful of the candidates so far, and _he_ seemed… well, _promising_.

  
He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

  
*

 

* * *

 


	3. You must think that I'm crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Technically_ he supposed he was off the dating market until he found out whether or not he was getting married to some total stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The title for this chapter is a line from the song** _Keep The Change, You Filthy Animal_ **by All Time Low.**

_Chapter 2:_

_You must think that I'm crazy_

* * *

 

__  
*  
  


Going to work on Monday after a weekend of being interviewed and prepped for a marriage that he was going to be going into—probably maybe anyway—without even knowing his future wife or husband was… _well_ , a bit of a relief, actually. Arthur sifted through paperwork, and grinned through client meetings and phone calls like it was _nothing_ , like he _didn't_ hate it all, and it was easy, for a change, not to let it all get to him or bore him or wear him down for a change. Indeed, it was a nice distraction from the stress and wondering and puzzling he'd been through over the weekend. His whole world was suddenly so upside down and backwards just because of a couple meetings, and a few thoughts, and the possibility of a thing that might not even happen for him, that he was happier to go to work that day than he'd been in a long, _long_ time now.

  
Because of that, he was somehow able to put the events of the weekend out of his mind, for the most part, for the majority of the day.

  
Until around lunchtime, that was, when his sister, who worked just a floor up, called him and informed him that they would be taking their lunch together that afternoon. Arthur had _tried_ to get out of it, but Morgana was much more than just persistent when she wanted something, and, clearly, she wanted to have lunch with Arthur that afternoon, so, unfortunately for him, it happened. He did, however, manage to convince her to dine with him in _his_ office, at _his_ desk, instead of going out to some restaurant like she wanted to.

  
And he was actually beginning to regret that.

  
Smiling a bright red Cheshire cat sort of smile as she picked at a salad and sandwich across from Arthur and the sandwich and crisps _he_ was currently picking at as something twisted in his stomach, Arthur _almost_ wished he'd tried harder to get out of this impromptu lunch altogether. He _could_ have done it, too, if he'd just tried a little bit harder, there was isomething they needed to so, work to be done, clients to meet with—there was ** _always something_** that needed to be done, he really _could_ have come up with a decent excuse, when he thought about it for a long moment or two…

  
" _Morgana_ ," he sighed at last, leveling her with a tired sort of look. "What is this all about?"

  
"Lunch, brother dearest," she answered, batting her thick lashes at him as she took a bite of her sandwich.

  
Arthur rolled his eyes in turn, "Can we please just skip the part of this conversation where you pretend to be innocent and I pretend to believe your bullshit until you come out with the _real_ reason for wanting to have lunch with me and get to the last part first for a change?"

  
"Well if you want to take _all_ the fun out of this," she all but sighed, reached out to take one of Arthur's crisps, popped it into her mouth before chewing thoughtfully before beginning a moment later, "I want you to go out on a date with one of my friends."

  
" _What?"_ Arthur asked, almost… _amused_ at her request. Any other time, and he would have said yes just to get her to leave him in peace, but… well, _technically_ he supposed he was off the dating market until he found out whether or not he was getting married to some total stranger. Any saner person might have gone on the date and forgotten about the marriage thing, since the opportunity was presented before him, but… well, Arthur didn't have much luck with relationships anyway, so, even if he went out on a date with this friend of Morgana's, it wasn't likely to go anywhere, so, really, what was the point?

  
"I want you to—"

  
"I heard what you said," Arthur interrupted. "But… I can't. Sorry," he shrugged, reaching out to take a sip of his coffee to avoid eye contact, though he _knew_ Morgana's perfectly shaped eyebrow was high on her forehead, a purring question or retort resting just on the tip of her tongue to goad him into either telling her _why_ he couldn't go on the date, or get him to agree to go on the date anyway.

  
And she wouldn't leave his office until she got one or the other, he knew all too well.

  
He knew that if he did get matched up with someone, that he would have to tell her, his father, all his friends, eventually, but… well, he was hoping _that_ part wouldn't come until it was much too late to be talked out of it. And Morgana was a gossip, if she was anything at all, especially when it came to something like this; he was sure if he told her this without extracting a promise of epic proportions out of her, it would be all over the office by the time he left later that evening.

  
Putting his coffee cup back down, he let out a sigh and met her eye, the question and prodding resting just in the glint of her eye now.

  
"I can't go on a date with your friend, because… I might be getting married soon," he offered before she could ask.

  
And as soon as the words left his mouth, he _knew_ he would be getting very little peace for the longest of times; Morgana and her incredulous questions and prodding and disbelief would be staining every _look_ and conversation they had for the rest of the day, and probably long afterwards as well.

  
At least, he told himself, sinking back against his chair as she went off on him then, calling him a complete moron and various things of the such, and told him it was a stupid idea and et cetera et cetera, that was one less person he would have to worry about telling later on. And anyway, once she stopped flipping out on him, he wondered if he might be able to convince her to help him break the news to their father, when the time came…

  
*  
  


* * *

 


	4. Tell Me I'm A Wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No way_ was he leaving his condoms in the kitchen drawer—he didn't need her to think he was some sort of sexual deviant and match him up with someone else who kept their condoms in their kitchen drawer for some reason other than laziness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The title for this chapter is a line—and the title, obvi—from the song** _Tell Me I'm A Wreck_ **by Every Avenue.**

_Chapter 3:_

_Tell me I'm a wreck_  

* * *

 

*

  
The rest of the week was full of Morgana and her looks of disbelief, her blithe, judgmental head-shakes, text messages and phone calls meant to try to talk him into backing out of such an endeavor—because, in her words, "You _cannot_ marry someone you've never met, Arthur! What if things don't work out? What if you wind up getting a divorce? If you've never met them before you can't very well ask them to sign a prenup and if you wind up losing half of everything to some gold-digger, Uther will disinherit you for the _sheer_ stupidity you've displayed!"—but Arthur was already set in seeing this through. Because what did he have to lose? If he got married and it didn't work, he certainly wasn't _against_ having to compensate them for their time, as dirty as that made him feel when he thought about it quite like _that_.

  
He didn't have much time to think about it, anyway, between work and Morgana and the follow-up phone calls with Dr. Leslie and the _massive_ questionnaire he was sent that Tuesday to fill out—with so many in-depth questions he wondered if he was _actually_ being interviewed by the government because they suspected him to be a threat to national security or _something_ —he didn't seem to have much time to worry about it or even consider for another moment backing out, not once his mind was made up on the subject.

  
He supposed there was a little part of him that didn't even think he was going to be matched up—he suspected, in that small, cynical part of him, that not even such experts would be able to find a match for him—which made it all the more easy to go through the motions of answering question after question and enduring Morgana's looks and calls and made it easy to push everything to the back of his mind, even as he got lost in work and phone calls.

  
And then Dr. Leslie called him at work that Friday and asked to set up a house visit.

  
"The way you keep your house, the things you have displayed, how neat or disorganized you are—all of these things come into play when trying to find your perfect match. Is seven tomorrow evening all right for you?"

  
"Yeah, yeah," Arthur nodded to himself, knowing she couldn't see it, swallowing down the sudden stale taste in his mouth. "It's fine," he added, hanging up the phone a moment later after they ran through a few more details, picking up the pen on his desk and clicking it a few times, thoughtfully running over the current state of his house.

  
All things considered, it was pretty neat and orderly. Sometimes he let his dishes pile up for a day or so, sometimes he left his clothes strewn about, sometimes he took off his ties and left them in the strangest of places without even realizing it—once, when going to get some ice cream, he found his lucky tie in the back of his freezer—sometimes he left lights on, sometimes he left paperwork all over the dining room table, and half-finished cups of tea here and there.

  
There were few pictures, but the ones that he _did_ have on display meant quite a bit to him—his mother, for example, who passed away when he was only a baby, was tucked just on the edge of his desk next to the computer in his home office. There were also pictures of his sister and father and friends and important events in his life, and, actually, maybe he had more pictures than he thought he did…

  
Should he straighten up, however, was his current concern. Should he dust, pick up his clothes, find all his misplaced ties, empty his half-full tea cups, be sure all his dishes were clean and put away, and other things of the such? Or would that mess with… the process? Or something of the such?

  
When he finally went home later that evening, telling his friends he couldn't grab a drink that night, when they asked him, saying he had _far_ too much work to get done to make it that night—actually, he hadn't had a proper case to work on in something like a month or so, but none of them, other than Morgana, knew that, and she was more likely to tell everyone he planned on marrying a complete stranger than she was likely to tell them he was lying to them about the amount of work he had to do—he dropped his briefcase off on his couch on his way through and walked through his house, just to get a real feel of it. He'd lived there for years now, he knew he probably should have had a feel for it already, but…

  
Running his hand along the smooth walls, taking in this picture there, that table there, he found there were things he'd never even noticed about his house before. For example, the carpeting in his office was bright red. He'd spent hours upon hours in that office, and not once had he ever noticed the color of the carpeting. His room had hardwood floor, the bed was never made, the bookshelf he kept in it was all but bare, a few books on it, the rest scattered about the room and rest of the house; the bathroom had several empty shampoo bottles lying about, for some reason he had condoms and lube in the drawer in his kitchen right next to his silverware— _those_ he would move, for sure, before Dr. Leslie arrived the next evening.

  
For the most part, his house was immaculate, it was _just_ a bit of a mess.

  
He decided he would leave it relatively as it was, with the exception of his bathroom and the kitchen; he was going to do his dishes that night anyway, so it technically wasn't cheating; and no _way_ was he leaving his condoms in the kitchen drawer—he didn't need her to think he was some sort of sexual deviant and match him up with someone else who kept their condoms in their kitchen drawer for some reason other than laziness—he was willing to accept that was an odd sort of thought, but, in his own defense, it had been a long, strange week…

  
And when Dr. Leslie arrived the following evening, and he took her on a walk-through of the house, answering question after question after question until she finally left an hour and a half later…

  
He collapsed on his couch, too tired even to get something to eat for another hour or so at least. If this happened, he found himself thinking, if they _actually_ found a match for him, in just a couple weeks' time, he was going to be sharing this house with someone, he was going to be welcoming someone into this chaotic little world of his, this world of half-finished cups of tea and ties left everywhere and condoms in the kitchen drawer and a bookshelf with very little books and his insane work hours and his insane family and friends and—

  
Suddenly, the prospect of marrying someone he didn't know was rather terrifying and exciting all at once, and he was _actually_ looking forward to being matched up—was **_hoping_ ** he would be matched up now—more than he originally thought he was going to be.

  
*

 

* * *

 


	5. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just… want to know which pronouns to use when breaking the news to my father," he explained, a wry smile on his face as he did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The title for this chapter is like... I mean, it's the name of a couple different songs and also it's a line from a couple different songs so I'm still keeping with the theme here technically, okay, omfg.**

 

_Chapter 4:_

_The call_  

* * *

 

  _*_

  
He got the call, three days later, sitting in his office, going over some paperwork sent to him from his father on the top floor, that they'd found a match for him. Wedding arrangements—with some input from himself and his match—would be made for the following weekend when they would be wed. And he wasn't to know _anything_ about the person he would be marrying—not even their _**name**_ —until he met them at the altar. He would go through his tux fitting, telling his friends and father about the wedding, the pre-wedding jitters and possible cold-feet without knowing _**anything** _ about the person he would be marrying.

  
Which, of course, he already _knew_ , but, now that it was confirmed, now that he knew _for sure_ he would be marrying someone…

  
Heart pounding in his ears, phone clenched to his ear, he cleared his throat.

  
"Can I at least…" he cleared his throat again, licking his suddenly dry lips before he made himself continue, "I know I can't know their name, but, can I at least ask… man or woman?"

  
There was a pause, and then Dr. Leslie asked, "Does it matter?"

  
"I just… want to know which pronouns to use when breaking the news to my father," he explained, a wry smile on his face as he did so.

  
There was another pause, and Arthur wondered for a moment if she was going to deny his request before she finally said, "Man."

  
*

 

* * *

 


	6. I Need To Get My Story Straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're getting married," Gwen repeated after a moment, eyes trailing over to Arthur, eyebrow on her forehead soft and wondering and nowhere near as judging as the look he had received from his own sister when he'd first told her of the experiment. "To a complete stranger," she added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The title for this chapter is a line from the song** _We Are Young_ **by Fun.**

_Chapter 5:_  
  
_I need to get my story straight_

* * *

  _  
*_

  
Telling Morgana he would have a husband by the end of next weekend hadn't been… well, it had been _exactly_ what he'd expected, actually—name calling and chastising, eye-rolling and sighing—but, by the time Arthur left her office just after lunch… he saw— _hoped_ , anyway—that she was beginning to understand, just a little bit, that he was _doing this_ , end of story, no matter how much she seemed to hate the idea.

  
He decided, however, that he would wait to tell his friends, wait to tell his father until the last possible moment—after all the details were in place, after he'd been fitted for his suit, after everything else was decided and settled; he figured by then there would be _no_ chance of him being talked out of it by _any_ of them.

  
And oh, it all flew by so quickly that he really didn't have much time to come up with a plan for _how_ he was going to do it; there was so little time between deciding when he would tell them and actually telling them that… Well, he didn't have a plan. While he was being fitted for his suit, going over details with the specialists, getting an address and giving a handful of details they asked for concerning the big day, he was turning the whole situation over and over and over in his head—and of course, there was still work, on top of it all—still in disbelief in the oddest and most wonderful of ways that. Honestly, even if he'd had the time to think about what he was going to tell his father and friends, he didn't have the space in his head for it.

  
So the Monday before his wedding when he called a few of his friends to ask them to meet him at a bar after work… he **still** didn't know what he was going to say or _how_ he was going to say it, but he figured he could wing it—he was marrying someone he'd never met before, why _not_ wing breaking the news to his friends while he was at it?

  
When they all arrived there, everyone thought that everything was fine, that it was a normal night out. But when Arthur paid for everything the entire night over, when he kept mostly to himself, heart thudding, throat dry no matter how many sips of beer he downed, hands fidgeting, crumpling napkins and tapping on the table in a way that made them raise their eyebrows at him curiously...

  
They probably picked up on the fact that something was going on long before Leon—his oldest and _best_ friend in the world—finally gave him a long, gauging sort of look and asked what was going on with him; they were much smarter than that, after all.

  
He let out a sigh, and turned his gaze from Leon to Gwen—who also happened to be an ex, but whom he'd stayed friends with, one of his few relationships that had actually ended, well, civilly—to Elyan, Gwen's brother, and shook his head. He had a plethora of other… _people_ he conversed with on a daily or weekly enough basis, but, the three he had called to this bar, on a _weeknight_ , were the only ones he would be inclined to consider his closest friends, they were the only people he was willing to tell in person like this about the experiment. They were a few of the only people whose opinions and thoughts on his upcoming nuptials he valued and would be likely to take into consideration—not that his mind could be changed on the subject, however, but that wasn't exactly his _point_ at the moment, because what they thought still mattered.

  
"I… am getting married. This Saturday. To a man I've never met. Whose name I don't even know yet. And I won't be meeting him or actually learning his name until we meet at the altar. And I would like the three of you to be there for me," he said, looking around once more at the widening of their eyes, dropping of their jaws, all struck dumb, the silence that hung between them uneasy and uncertain.

_  
Was he joking_ , he could see the question written in their eyes, in the way they looked at one another, the way their eyes darted back over to him. Swallowing, he tightened his grip around his beer, shifted slightly in his seat; maybe he should have made Morgana come along with him to help break the news. She had agreed to help him tell their father, to be there for him then, but her presence also would have been greatly appreciated here as well, would have been useful in soothing the prickle of anxiety that suddenly crept up. She was his sister, and _sure_ they argued sometimes—all the time—and maybe she didn't exactly agree with what he was doing, but she would have seen the look in his eyes, would have picked up on the signs and turned to their friends and helped him explain the situation, what he hoped to accomplish with this arranged marriage with this complete stranger. He had come to depend on her in that way, having grown up with her instead of a proper mother, he _did_ value her and how she could read him and help diffuse most situations.

  
Maybe that was why her assistance was best left for breaking it all to their father, he mused to himself after a moment, recognizing that he was babbling to himself now and there really was no reason for such a thing, as the silence that was left the stretch between the lot of them did nothing to help with his case or the situation.

  
"You're getting married," Gwen repeated after a moment, eyes trailing over to Arthur, eyebrow on her forehead soft and wondering and nowhere near as judging as the look he had received from his own sister when he'd first told her of the experiment. "To a complete stranger," she added, pressing her lips into a straight line as she considered the look on Arthur's face, eyes as piercing and searching and welcoming as they had always been.

  
"Yes. That's the plan," Arthur nodded in response.

  
" _Right_. We're... going to need you to start from the beginning," Leon said then, shaking his head and taking a sip of his beer.

  
" ** _And_ ** another round," Elyan added, nodding at his now empty beer glass.

  
Arthur nodded in response, and went about ordering another round for them, telling the waitress to bring a pitcher as well and leave it. Because they were silent—if shocked—for the moment, but they were not likely to stay that way for long. Sooner or later, they would all want to put their two cents in; sooner or later, they would all tell him _exactly_ what they thought of what he was doing—and it would all come just as soon as their shock wore off.

  
Hopefully, with the added beer, he would have enough time to explain everything to them before they started in on him. Hopefully, they would be easier on him than Morgana had been.

  
And hopefully, they would _all_ be there for him that Saturday. Because damn if he wouldn't need them.

  
*

* * *

 


	7. The Sun Is Out For A While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were a lot more supportive than Morgana had originally been, at any rate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The title for this chapter is a line from the song** _Hail Rain Or Sunshine_ **by The Script.**

 

_Chapter 6:_

_The sun is out for a while_

* * *

 

  
*

  
His friends were, as it turned out, really quite behind him in his decision to marry a complete stranger.

  
Or rather, they were at least _a lot_ more supportive than he thought they would be; they were a lot more supportive than _Morgana_ had originally been, at any rate. Perhaps that had simply been because they knew him, had recognized the look on his face when he told them it was happening and there was little in the world that would change his mind on such a subject. Everything was all in place and decided and all he needed to do, he told them, was invite a few other people and tell his father, and then there would be nothing left between him and holy matrimony with the man who was, scientifically speaking, his soul mate.

  
And of course, Leon was _not_ going to let him forget that he had used that phrasing for even _half_ a moment, Arthur knew. He would likely bring it up _at_ the wedding—Elyan, too, probably—and if he wasn't stressing so much over having to tell his father that he was marrying a complete and total stranger, he _might_ have worried about that a little bit more than he currently was.

  
*

 

* * *

 


	8. I'm Coming Out Of My Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If his husband turned out to be a mime enthusiast or hated chocolate ice cream or loved the sound of nails on a chalkboard or something insane like that… he might request a divorce right off the bat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The title for this chapter is a line from the song** _Mr. Brightside_ **by The Killers.**

_Chapter 7:_

_I'm coming out of my cage_

* * *

 

_  
*_

  
Telling his father—finally—came the next day.

  
He'd talked it over with Morgana, and the pair of them decided, together, it would probably be for the best if they went over for dinner —as they hadn't done so in months now anyway—and eased him into the subject of marriage and then drop the big news—subtly, carefully. A sit down dinner with his children always used to seem to settle him, calm him, the anxiety and stress melting from around the corners of his eyes ever so slightly—because no matter how much time he spent at work, no matter how much energy he put into what he did and how hard he worked, he _did_ love his children, and having dinner with them—especially as they grew and became just as busy as their father—seemed to be one thing he never quite tired of.

  
Which was why, whenever they had any sort of news to break to him, they always did it over dinner. Whenever they had good news to break to him, they did it over a dinner, and whenever they had bad news, they did that over dinner as well. The only time they _ever_ seemed to talk about things was over dinner. There were no phone calls, no lunches or cups of tea or chats before bed or e-mails—if a Pendragon child needed to talk about something with their father that was related to _anything_ outside of the workplace, it was only ever done over dinner.

  
Which explained why Uther Pendragon was willing to agree to such a thing in the middle of the week when he had so much on his plate—he had been working an important case, the entire firm knew, and his night _should_ have been spent going over notes and dispositions and locking himself away in his office at home where it was just himself and Morgana if she chose to work in his office as well, otherwise she would have spent the evening in her own office, going through files and preparing a case for a client of her own before she grabbed a late dinner of coffee or tea, depending on her mood, and something thrown in the microwave around midnight.

  
That was how things _always_ went, how this night _should_ have gone, but, well, Arthur was simply in it to shake things up, wasn't he?

  
Perhaps it would have been better for the lot of them if they had news to share more often, because spending so much time shut away from each other and their friends with only their books and files and cases for company wasn't the sort of existence Arthur thought anyone should crave or live through. It would do them at least a little bit of good to be around each other more often. Perhaps he would just have to start making up news to get them all together like that more often.

  
But for now, they simply had the one bit of news and the one dinner to see to, and as such, the dinner was reason enough for Arthur to pack up his briefcase and leave work early, shopping list in his pocket, key to his father's house swinging from his keychain as he left the building, passing his secretary and colleagues who greeted him stiffly with nods meant to be friendly but just reminded him of the fact that he only knew a handful of these people by their names; the rest of them were just faces, just people he worked with who respected him and kissed his ass only because his father was the head of the firm. None of them would be invited to the wedding at his request, though Morgana had insisted upon this one and that one for her own personal agenda. But, getting into the elevator, he knew it didn't matter—none of it _fucking_ mattered—because he was going to be married in just a few days, and tonight he would tell his father about it over a meal he prepared himself and…

  
Honestly, nothing else _really_ fucking mattered except what his father would have to say on the subject, and whether _he_ would show up or not. He already knew his friends and sister would be there, and that was all fine and well and he appreciated them for that fact, but... his father was an important part of his life, his father was his _father_ , so not having him at the wedding would be a bit of a blow, would be absolutely and terribly…

  
On his journey to the store, _through_ the store with his list in his hands and his tie loosened and hanging around his neck, on his way to his father's house, he tried not to think about it too much, tried not to worry what he would do if his father said he _didn't_ approve, would _not_ be attending the wedding. He tried not to think about it as he went about preparing the meal they'd be eating that night, the house around him empty and cold and uniform, the maid having swept through just the day before and leaving everything spotless and lifeless, not a thread or cobweb out of place. It left him with a chill, to be perfectly honest, the harsh kitchen lighting reflecting off the counter and the stainless steel _everything_ that was around him in a way that made him shed his jacket, and take a break from cutting up vegetables to jog up to his old bedroom to change into some old band shirt and a pair of faded jeans he'd left behind some years ago when he'd decided to get his own place. It was a tight fit, but it was better than the suit he'd been wearing and found _much_ too stifling in that kitchen that was too quiet and too empty anyway.

  
But that wasn't much of a point he felt necessary to try to drive home at the moment.

  
Instead, he spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening preparing his _'I'm getting married to a complete stranger please don't disown me'_ meal for his father and sister, trying to keep all other thoughts away with the rhythm and familiar swing of the kitchen and the process and recipes he had memorized from having to do this a few too many times over the years. Lucky for him, he enjoyed cooking quite a bit—enjoyed it as much as his sister and father enjoyed arguing in court, enjoyed it as much as he enjoyed writing, enjoyed it as much as he enjoyed his house feeling lived in, enjoyed it as much as he hated his current job, enjoyed it simply because he enjoyed it.

  
And he wondered, as he found himself enjoying it, what sort of things his soon-to-be husband did and did not enjoy. Did he like sports or painting or did he hate the colour blue or did he sleep with ten pillows or did he leave the cap off the toothpaste or dog-ear books or did he like music or— _well_ , perhaps this whole _'marrying at first sight'_ thing was proving to be just a _tad_ more stressful than Arthur had originally anticipated. No matter, however; he'd already committed, already told most who needed to be told right off the bat, and he was going through with it. That was simply all there was to it.

  
But if his husband turned out to be a mime enthusiast or hated chocolate ice cream or loved the sound of nails on a chalkboard or something _insane_ like that… he might request a divorce right off the bat.

  
He didn't have much more time to dwell on such thoughts or consider what else his future husband did or did not like— or rather, he didn't _allow_ himself the time to dwell on such thoughts any longer than necessary, because the next thing he knew, the meal was ready, his father and Morgana were home, and they were all sitting down to enjoy the meal, their father's eyebrow quirking as he began to cut into his food, the question written in the very way he chewed, wondering, Arthur knew all too well, _what_ the occasion for such a gathering was.

  
He just hoped, as he took a gulp of wine to calm his nerves, looking over to Morgana for her support, that his father would take the news better than the pair of them thought—or could ever hope—that he would.

  
*

 

* * *

 


	9. Just close your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Coming out and getting married are two completely different things and you know it," Arthur shot at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The title for this chapter is a line from the song** _Safe & Sound_ **by Taylor Swift featuring The Civil Wars.**

_Chapter 8:_

_Just close your eyes_

* * *

 

 

_*_

  
"You can't be _too_ surprised," Morgana said, lips drawn down into a small frown as she helped Arthur load up the dishwasher, the plates cleared, half empty wine glasses sitting on the counter near them, the remnants of both dinner and the conversation Arthur had with their father clinging to him.

  
Arthur's forehead was creased with it all, the too fresh memory like that of Morgana's lipstick stain on the glass she was reaching for; she took a small sip as she gave Arthur a sympathetic sort of look, handing him the final plate before he shut the dishwasher and pushed the necessary buttons, the machine humming to life quietly and beginning its task as he leaned against it, reaching for his own glass and taking a long drink.

  
The conversation with his father had been… exactly what he'd expected it to be. They'd enjoyed their meal for a total of fifteen minutes, idle chit-chat and work related anecdotes and jokes being traded before his father had finally broken down and asked what the occasion was, what the big news that warranted a family dinner was and whether it was going to affect the firm.

  
And then it had been… _exactly_ what Arthur and Morgana had expected it would be: insults and yelling and hurt feelings all around, with Morgana chiming in on Arthur's behalf—"He's almost _thirty_ , Daddy, he can make his own decisions now; he doesn't need to be coddled!"—where she could. And at the end of the meal… Uther had stormed off to his office, promising Arthur that he would not be attending the wedding, and all but threatening to disown him if he went through with the ceremony. And Arthur knew he didn't mean it— _knew_ there were a lot of things he'd sooner do before disowning his son, the last remaining physical piece of his wife that existed in the world—but… that didn't make it hurt any less.

  
And the fact that his father wasn't going to be at his wedding—even if it _was_ to a total stranger—made it hurt even _more_. Because this was his _wedding_ , damnit, and he should have wanted to be there to support him in this completely idiotic decision he was making.

  
He _should_ have, but Arthur had always known that he wouldn't be.

  
"I'm not," Arthur sighed, finishing the rest of his wine and setting the glass down on the counter next to him, eyes downcast, bottom lip resting between his teeth. "I just… I guess I was hoping…" he trailed off, shrugged, looked back up to his sister. "I don't know, that he would… surprise _us_. Be supportive of any decisions I made on my own for a change—that was stupid of me though, wasn't it?"

  
"Only a little," Morgana said, small smile on her face, wine glass still in her hand. "But… he'll come around—not to the wedding," she told him, as though he needed to be reminded of that. "But after you're married, come back from the honeymoon, get settled into married life—I think if you're happy with whoever you're marrying… he'll come around, Arthur. Remember when you first came out to him? How it took him _ages_ to come around and accept you for who you are?" She asked, tilting her glass back to finish her wine, placing her glass on the counter next to Arthur's, before she reached out to give his hand a squeeze, reassuring and gentle in the way she only ever was when she had a decent bit of wine in her.

  
"Coming out and getting married are two _completely_ different things and you know it," Arthur shot at her, tongue sharp with what he was feeling towards his father, the hostility in his tone lost to Morgana, who was used to such a thing already and knew better than anyone how frustrating their father could be; she knew what it was like to need to take that frustration and agitation out on someone who wouldn't cut them off every chance they got and then storm off to their office when they decided the argument was over—because Pendragon arguments could get heated if they could be anything, and that love of arguing, of being so damn good at it, made each and every one of them damn good lawyers. It did not, however, make them a good family.

  
Morgana knew, and she understood; she wouldn't hold it against him.

  
"Yes, of course they are," Morgana said, offering him another small smile. "But, to Uther, they're not so different, not really."

  
And how could Arthur argue with that, really, when their father was having the same reaction that he'd had when Arthur had first come out of the closet to him, had sprung the news on him at dinner one night that he liked men too and oh by the way he'd been dating his good friend Leon for some months now?

  
But Arthur didn't want to dwell on _that_ night any longer, how hurt he'd been at the obscenities and misconceptions leaving Uther's mouth that he argued against as hard as he could without crying. Suddenly, he was all too aware of the facts and truths and lies and hurtful sentences that took shape in memory form that took to bouncing around the room and off furniture that had scratches and dings from a childhood that included far too much time alone with himself and Morgana and their imagination and trouble, and _God_ , those memories should not _all_ have been swirling together in that moment—it shouldn't have been hide and seek mixing with hateful words, and giggled stories tangling with insults—not the sort that his father had been spewing that night so long ago, anyway.

  
Uther _did_ come around, of course, came to accept and understand Arthur and who he was, and Arthur was sure that he would come around to this in time as well, just as Morgana had said. But that didn't take the sting out of any of this, didn't change anything, didn't take away from the way he would replay those memories and fall into a fitful sleep, jaw clenching in an angry sort of way that would paint it sore with hostility that would linger for days.

  
"You should go home," Morgana said suddenly, interrupting Arthur's thoughts, looking at him again. "Get some rest. It's… been a stressful few days."

  
"Yeah," Arthur agreed, nodding, numb, suddenly, from everything that'd been happening, feelinh close to cracking, to something breaking. It was just stress, he knew. Just stress. "I should," he sighed, pushing off from the dishwasher, checking his pockets automatically for his phone, his keys, his sanity.

  
"And sleep in tomorrow," she added, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him, his own arms coming up to return the gesture, holding her close in that familiar way, her sisterly embrace comforting and quelling just a bit of the stress. Because at least he had _her_. Their father probably wouldn't be speaking to him for a while now, and whatever he did say would be work related and delivered with a hard edge to his voice and a judgmental sort of look that would fade as time wore on, and that was a hard pill he could only half swallow right now.

  
"I will."

  
"Good. Now get," she commanded when she pulled back, leaning close to peck him on the cheek before waving him off, turning around to move their soiled wine glasses from the counter—or rather, to move Arthur's, and to get herself refill before heading back to her own office.

  
Or would she go to bed, Arthur wondered, letting himself out of the house that was much too stifling, trying to shake off the hostility and the dreadful taste in his mouth as he crossed the threshold and was met with the cool night breeze. Would Morgana even be able to focus on work now, would their father? Would it be easier for him to push all of this out of his mind, would falling back into work after such a discussion and spat be much too easy for him, too much like second-nature?

  
And was it really fair to bring an entirely unsuspecting person into the madness that _was_ the Pendragon family without at least a little heads-up for it?

  
*

 

* * *

 


	10. Nice to meet you—where you been?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His heart was in his throat, pulse erratic as he let his eyes leave the people around them and focus instead on his fiancé— _finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The title for this chapter is a line from the song** _Blank Space_ **by Taylor Swift.**

_Chapter 9:  
_  
_Nice to meet you—where you been?_

* * *

_  
*_

  
The night before the wedding, Leon, Morgana, Gwen, and Elyan decided it was entirely and completely necessary to take Arthur out for one last night on the town as a free man. They wanted to invite plenty more people and make it a _proper_ bachelor party without the girls, but, he'd insisted that they keep it a small affair—and with all the drama with Uther still lingering and infecting every aspect of Arthur's life... well they couldn't quite help _but_ give in to this one request of his. So it was just the five of them, a nice restaurant, and laughs and stories and questions and jokes and Arthur loosening up with his friends, shedding the drama with his father over the course of the following days to be able to properly enjoy this night out.

  
And really, it was the most fun he'd had since signing up for this whole _marrying a complete stranger_ mess.

  
And it flew by all too quickly, the drinks and the laughter and the fun, and the next thing he knew, he was standing in his tux, palms sweating, hair neat, biting his bottom lip, fidgeting, heart pounding, stomach light and feeling like it could make him bring up his breakfast any moment now. He was standing just outside the room he was to be wed in, and the morning had been a blur of limo rides and half conversations and jitters and second thoughts and wonderings of what his husband to be looked like or sounded like or was like or what his family was like and if they were there and how they felt about all this and if he would freak out over all the half cups of tea Arthur left everywhere and come to think of it, did Arthur ever _actually_ move those condoms and lube from his kitchen drawer or were they still there and maybe he should just run back to his house to move them _real quick_ …

  
It was too late for that, however, because the next thing he knew, the _very_ next thing he knew, the door in front of him—tan, oak, maybe, not a crack or imperfection in it—was opening, and he was moving, walking down the aisle—there'd been a coin toss on both grooms' behalf and it was decided that his husband would be the one waiting at the altar and Arthur would be the one to come down to meet him, which he was so thankful for; he really didn't want to have a roomful of witnesses for his jittery second thoughts and panicking—legs moving of their own accord. All eyes were on him as he walked, his friends, sister, coworkers—not to mention his soon-to-be _husband's_ friends and family all watching him on their feet.

  
Looking around at them, they all seemed… fairly normal, he supposed, he wasn't entirely sure what to make of them, but he was sure he would make something or another of them soon enough. His heart was in his throat, pulse erratic as he let his eyes leave the people around them and focus instead on his fiancé—finally.

_  
Finally_

  
His breath hitched as he came to a stop just across from him, taking him in, giving him a long look. His thoughts left him, logic left him, everything but this moment no longer mattering as he tried to process, connect _that face_ —all cheekbones and gorgeous blue eyes and looking _amazing_ in his tux—to the title of husband.

  
Fuck.

  
"Hi," the man said, grinning, and, oh, that wasn't _fair—_ even his smile was gorgeous.

  
"Hi," Arthur said back, smiling nervously, hands coming out of his pockets, trying to be the man he usually was in the court room—cool, collected, confident. But something about the way the man looked at him in return as Arthur held out his hand for him to shake—which was only habit, more than anything else, really—told him that maybe he wasn't buying it.

  
Regardless, he thrust his hand forward, grip strong, impressive; as they shook, the people around them were all chattering, muttering, about something or another, and Arthur got the vague feeling he should have… done or said something else, but this moment was already huge enough, encompassing so much of his mind, so many thoughts centered around them and oh, what the hell were words _anyway?_

  
Somebody started talking louder then, and Arthur drew his hand back, reluctant to do so as he tore his gaze off this man and looked to the woman who would be marrying them. Introductions. She was telling them the other's names. Ah, well, that was just a _bit_ important, now wasn't it?

  
"Sorry, could you repeat that?" Arthur asked, feeling his face heat up when she laughed and nodded, his fiancé's chuckle making him smile despite himself.

  
"Arthur Pendragon," the woman said, nodding to him, "Meet Merlin Emrys. Merlin Emrys—Arthur Pendragon," she said, smiling wide.

  
Arthur nodded, looked from her to him, to Merlin— _Merlin_. It fit. Of course it did—and smiled as he said, "Nice to meet you, Merlin. Fine day for a wedding, don't you think?"

  
  
"Yeah," Merlin nodded, laughing. "Yeah, it is."

  
*

 

* * *

 


	11. All we can do is keep breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur was beginning to think that he was really going to like his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The title for this chapter is a line from the song** _Keep Breathing_ **by Ingrid Michaelson.**

_Chapter 10:_  
  
_All we can do is keep breathing_

* * *

 

_  
*_

  
The _I do's_ were easy, quick, almost surreal—they had not kissed when the time came, which Arthur almost regretted—and everything still such a blur, and Arthur wasn't entirely sure when things would start seeming normal again, when things would slow down and everything would stop feeling like such a dream or nightmare or fantasy or, well, whatever this whole mess _was_.

  
The next thing Arthur knew, quick introductions were being done before the reception—close friends, Merlin's mother, Morgana, the who's who of who were in their lives. If Merlin wondered where Arthur's parents were during the meet and greets, he didn't ask, simply went along with everything and the introductions that _were_ made, the people who were actually present. And he was quite the charmer, wasn't he? Quick witted, sharp tongue, but a charmer, eyes and cheekbones and smile and that clean-shaven look making him the picture of innocence and carefree something or another that Arthur almost envied, feeling much too stiff in this tux anyway, though he was used to suits and the such because of his job.

  
But perhaps it felt stiff for another reason entirely, he decided, going about the rest of the festivities, taking his seat at the reception next to Merlin, finally having a chance to sit back and relax after making rounds, and having met plenty new people and introducing Merlin to plenty more in return—though far too many of his own introductions contained the words "from work", he noted, sitting back in his chair and looking to Merlin. They wouldn't get a moment to be truly alone until later that evening, and even then, things would still be… _well_.

  
So Arthur took the reprieve, when everyone was eating and chatting amongst themselves, to try to… process. He was married now. Married to this man who he only just met and who smiled like he could bring about world peace or something. Or _something_. And he still couldn't seem to make that connection completely—Merlin Emrys was his husband now. His _husband._ The thought was foreign and welcome and different and weird all at once.

  
And about the only thing Arthur really knew about him at this point was that Arthur was definitely attracted to him. _Definitely_. And really, that said more about Arthur than it did Merlin, Arthur would admit, reaching for his champagne flute. But really, what sorts of questions was he meant to ask in this situation? What sorts of questions _could_ he ask?

  
Merlin himself seemed to be caught on a similar train of thought, as he lowered his own flute, cleared his throat, leaned in towards Arthur, "So. You're Arthur Pendragon—your sister is Morgana Pendragon—can I only assume that your father is Uther Pendragon?" he finished, eyes twinkling as though he already knew the answer—and really, he probably _did_ , as he didn't seem like a stupid man, after all, despite agreeing to marry a total stranger, and since Arthur had agreed to such a thing as well, that wasn't really much to go on.

  
"You can, yeah," Arthur nodded, lowering his glass. "I take it you've—"

  
"—heard of you lot? Yeah, who hasn't?"

  
"Right, fair enough. So obviously you know what _I_ do, so what is it then that _you_ do, then?"

  
"You now."

  
Arthur let out a snort, shook his head in laughter and turned back to his food, nerves further placated by the joke, because, **_well_**.

  
Arthur was beginning to think that he was really going to like his husband.

  
*

 

* * *

 


End file.
